I Don't Hear Music
by Niagra Falling
Summary: Twenty years of Meat Loaf's life.


**My response to the 20 years challenge on LJ. Meat Loaf and WWRY belong to Queen and Ben Elton, all the theme sets belong to William Shakespeare or public domain or whatever it is. He made them, anyways. I had to mess with ages, but I think it's okay. **

Themes 8: The Shakepeare Set

**0- Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow (Romeo and Juliet)**

Maura had no mother. She was born from one, obviously, but the Gaga cow had dumped her in front of a Globalsoft run orphanage, The keeper had named her Maura. Bitterness, it meant. A fine name for the child of a Gaga bitch.

They had said she was a pretty baby, even wrapped in the fast food bag. Pink cheeked and wailing, blond fuzz decorating her head and blue eyes that turned to green soon after.

"Such a sweet little one" said the keeper of the orphanage, tired as she was by all the other screaming children and sullen Gaga tweens. Soon after, she got a few Globalsoft interns fresh out of their first year at VirtualHigh to help out. All of them doted on Maura. Washing her, feeding her, exposing her only to the bright and beautiful.

"This one will never end up on the streets," they promised to themselves and the baby. "This one will never become a rebel, never a Bohemian. She's destined for something great, she is. Not to fall from beauty to be a rebel. She's destined for something great."

And the little pink cheeked girl was destined for great things. But those things were in the field that the VirtualHigh interns and the orphanage keeper tried to protect her from.

Oh, what a sweet little baby! They'd coo.

Motherless and fatherless, parted from both on the hour of her birth. Named after bitterness and darkness and technically, the sea.

Oh what a sweet child indeed.

**5- If music be the food of love, play on (Twelfth Night)**

"Listen to this new download Maur!" Kelli was another orphan, both cuter and more lovely then Maura was but fairly stupider. Most people were, though, Maura was the top of her new class. "It's by Reysay, the new comp pop star! Killer Queen herself worked it out! And look at the dance too, it's so fabulous!"

Something attracted the other orphans to Maura, even though she fulfilled the meaning of her name. Sarcastic before she was a half of a decade old and suspicious of everything Globalsoft advertised. Therefore, she looked on her entire world with narrowed eyes.

"The dance is mechanical and sucks us of individuality." Pronounced the blonde after hearing thirty seconds of the songs and watching even less of the dance. "It's missing something."

"No, it's not" Kelli told her. "It's perfect."

Maura shrugged. "I don't think so. It's by Globalsoft, so..."

"It's perfect!" Kelli chirped again. The redhead gave part of her cookie to Maura. "Deanie, the new in-torn- is that the right word?- says there's new virtual playplace games. Now we have Computerized Ping Pong and Computerized Basketball."

"No thanks, I don't want to stare at a screen for fun right now" said Maura. Kelli shrugged. "Okay. Um, see you later?"

Maura sighed. Nothing was right in her happy clappy world. The sheen had cracked off it, the gloss faded away. Globalsoft and Killer Queen hid too much. She was mentally older then her actual age, and she saw that. Clear as day, bright as the pinks of her room she shared with another girl.

The music was all wrong.

**10- The lady doth protest too much, methinks (Hamlet)**

By ten she was out of there. Out on the streets, smeared with street dust, huddling down with junkies, petty crooks, cheap prostitutes and all other sorts of people that Globalsoft hid from their view unless the police needed easy prey. She lied, said that she was thirteen at least. She looked it too, pretty bright eyes sparkling with hate and disgust and suspicion and hunger skimming off whatever baby fat she had left on her face.

She scavenged for food, found some wild plants growing near junk heaps. She avoided most people. glaring like death when they came near. But there was one that got to her and stuck like glue.

"Mine," she said of the half rotten orange she'd found. The boy gave her a lazy smile. "Mine, 'less you wanna have a go for it?"

Maura glanced at her long ragged nails. Sharp and dangerous. "Sure. Winner takes all." Then the boy, tall and dark, took her hand in his. "Or we could share it," he suggested,

"Share? What's that you mean? In case you haven't noticed, I got here first?"

"I noticed. You're the one who saw me and basically issued a challenge."

"I wasn't issuing no challenge, I was freaking confirming my ownership of the food."

"And I challenged your ownership."

Maura launched herself at the tall boy, screaming with claw nails out. She angered easily, far too easily now. "Bloody fuckin' wanker, oughta tear out your eyes and castrate you with wire and then throw your eyeballs in the junk heap-" but he caught her and held her.

"What's your name, little fierce one?"

She gave a strangely twisted dark smile. "Bitter."

"Maura, then," he said. "Suits you and it doesn't."

"Well thanks," she said, making to elbow him in the gut. But he caught her elbow.

"I'm Ben. Or I was. How old are you?"

"Thirteen." she replied, the easily practiced lie slipping out. "Or thirteen an' a half if you'd be all specific."

"Liar," he accused calmly. She was fed up with him and screamed at him again. At least she could hurt his ears.

"How dare you say I'd lie? What, you think I'd fucking be out on the streets at ten? And you're too calm, you're too smooth you're one of _them _yes you are-"

"You are fucking out on the streets at ten," the boy told her. "What, did you run away from a nice pair of caring parents?"

"What parents?" she spat. "Gaga cow that squeezed me out and left me in a chicken bag or the father that wasn't? Even the orphanage keeper and interns were all liars."

The boy looked at her with respect in his eyes. "Ten or not, you're at least thirteen in real age."

She smirked. "Glad you agree." He hoisted her up.

"Hey, bitter girl, you ever heard of the Bohemians?"

"Sure. The rebels, the wild ones, who the SP are out to get with guns blazing."

"Come with me." he said.

"Fine," Maura told him. "But who the hell are you?"

"Britney Spears," he said. "16 years old, Bohemian since 14 or so. Place I belong, place where people are accepting of rebel kids like you and rejecting the Gaga Globalsoft crap. Tell me this little miss bitter, ever heard of the Vibe?"

"No," she said. Britney saw the mask on her face drop for a second. He put his mouth close to her ear and sang softly.

"_And you're rushing headlong, you've got a new goal. And you're rushing headlong, out of control. And you think you're so strong- but there ain't no stopping and there's nothing you can do about it."_

Her eyes wide, she asked him what it was. "Sounds like what's real, not the crap- computer recorded anodyne pop we had."

"That's cause it is real. That's what we call music, babes."

"Tell me more," she begged, big green eyes wanting and wanting this and possibly getting it for the first time in her life.

"I'll take you to the Heartbreak Hotel," he said. "There, stuff will change."

**15- He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf (King Lear)**

"Oi, Miss Loaf," said Brit playfully, nudging her in the side. "Today's your birthday, right? Fifteen? Unless you're still sticking to the lie and sayin' you're seventeen and turning eighteen."

"So," she said. "You finally remembered.".

"I ain't that bad!" he protested.

"Yeah, you are Brit," she said, twisting out of his grip. He caught her easily, she hadn't really been trying to get away.

"Come on, babes, let's have some fun." he said. "Macca and Madsy are goin' out to search for the Dreamer and stuff to make real instruments today, and we can do whatever we want..." he trailed off, winking.

"Nah, Brit, I'm not staying in bed all day. And why'd you send Paul and Mads out? I'd have liked to go with you searching for the Dreamer 'least once, anyway."

"Too dangerous." he said immediately, adjusting his cap. "I'm not risking you Meat."

"But you risk yourself each time. What'm I gonna do when you don't come back Brit? Hook up with Prince?" She snorted. "In his wet dreams like."

"Point taken. But come on, let's have some fun..."

"We had fun last night, actually or I think we did."

"We didn't. You passed out from whatever else Macca spiked the punch with." She yawned. "Oh yeah. Remind me to get him for that sometime soon."

Then Cheeky Fairy came in, her tulle skirt backwards and inside out.

"Secret Police got and cornered Macca and Madonna!" she said. "C'mon Loaf, Brit, we gotta get 'em. They're in that van over north, we can get them!"

"Lovely birthday present," she said grumpily. "Fightin' a bunch of Secret Police and the Grand Arse himself, C'mmander Khashoggi."

So they hiked up to the van, a hardened yet mismatched crew led by Fairy, little as she was, with a large knife. The few that had been left behind were either hungover or defending the Heartbreak. Meat had pulled out her steel tipped, spiked boots from the pile of crap in the corner of her and Brit's place. "Figure this'd hurt if I get a few of them in their soft spots. Get 'em to sing soprano for a week," she'd remarked casually to Aretha, who had grinned and played with the catch of her laser gun.

"You go there, I'll give them sores and burns on their seats," she said. "Maybe with luck I'll hit the Man himself. Leave a scorch mark on that fancy schmancy gray suit, oy?"

And they'd laughed and left.

The fight was quick enough, and they completely destroyed the van. In the end Madonna had grabbed a piece of glass from the windshield to use as a weapon and there had been lots of drinks back at the Heartbreak Hotel. And then someone remembered it was Meat's birthday and there was more alcohol.

It was one of her better ones.

**20- The man that hath no music in himself (Merchant of Venice)**

She didn't know why Brit placed all his trust for the Dream in a wide eyed boy in a leather jacket with an angry chick at his side. She didn't see what Brit saw, she only saw his outside. Brit had that great ability to see inside people. She couldn't. More then not, Meat only saw the Gaga exterior.

"I say he's a spy," was what she had said to Brit when they met them outside the van. The Dreamer, idealistic and full of hope and then Scaramouche. the Bad Arsed Babe of his who was working on redefining teenage mood swings.

And she had pretty much been convinced until he did it. Proved he was the Dreamer by bringing back the Vibe.

God, that madness of Wembley,the lost instrument of the Hairy One of Queen, real music being brought back- it was her dream come true. It was the Dream. The Dreamer and his Bad Arsed Babe and the insane hippie librarian.

But Brit was dead.

The graceful horrible arch his body made as it fell, god, that would be burned into her brain forever.

He had basically saved the Dream by doing that, by dying.

God, how she missed him,

"H'lo," Scaramouche sat down besides her at the party. "Guess what."

"What?" she asked dully. Scaramouche was four years younger than her, sixteen. She'd skipped grades at school, Galileo was seventeen or eighteen.

"Khashoggi's gotten to be the new head of Security."

"How nice."

"Oh, Meat," Scaramouche sat down besides her. "You just don't really care anymore, do you?"

"Care?" she said, this time grumpily. "He saved me, okay? Now he's dead and his murderer is working for us."

"Hey, I hate him to. But Gaz- he's too forgiving." Scara shrugged and stretched her legs out. "I can love him for it and then want to bash his head in because of it too."

"You're lucky," Meat told her. "Don't let go of him."

Now Scaramouche rested her head on her knees. "I didn't believe in love. Mostly I don't still."

"You're insane, chick."

"Don't call me that please, and why am I insane?"

"Look, have you seen the Dreamer's expression when he sees you? It's so sweet and gooey I'd puke. But with you and him it's cute. Did you know him before?"

Scara shrugged. "Kind of. I knew him by appearance, saw him a few times. I thought he was insane, and he thought I was, I don't know. Prob'ly he though I was a major bitch. But with Teen Queens, you have to."

They sat in silence for a while, and then Meat spoke.

"I'm glad that I got out when I was ten. Learned lots out here."

"You were ten when you went out to the streets?" Scaramouche asked

"Yeah, Brit found me half a year laterf and I've been here since. And now he's dead. I still dream of it, you know."

"I would too," Scaramouche said. "I mean, I don't know how it feels, but I'd, I dunno, die inside."

Meat laughed bitterly. "I have. I don't hear music anymore."

Scara looked at her with wide eyes. "You'll have to find it then. You need to find it in yourself. You need to hear music."


End file.
